Satan's Sisters

by Star Jones

  “This is a gorgeous block,” Rain said, peering at the row of lovely brownstones facing the park, which was looking quite spiffy these days, Dara had to admit.

  “Yeah, the old block is looking pretty nice these days,” Dara said with more than a little pride. “Of course when I was growing up it didn’t look so great.”

  “So how far away from here did you live when you were growing up?” Rain asked.

  Dara pointed in the direction of 123rd Street. “About a block or so that way,” she said. “We lived in a big apartment building. My sister Lisa and I used to play at this park like every day.”

  Rain nodded. Together, they stepped to the doorbell. Dara reached out and pushed it. They stood, waiting. Dara felt like she was living the final moments of her life. In the next fifteen minutes, everything could change. They heard footsteps approach. It was her father, Manuel. He had a huge grin on his face as he opened the door.

  “Hola, Dara!” he said, reaching out both hands and taking her face in his. He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. He was just a little taller than she was, so with her heels she was looking him in the eye. He stepped back and beamed at her some more. He still hadn’t acknowledged Rain.

  “Daddy, I want you to meet a very good friend of mine, Rain Sommers,” Dara said, stepping back and pointing toward Rain. Rain held out her hand, but Manuel had no interest in a handshake; he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him, enveloping her in a big bear hug. Dara saw a grin spread across Rain’s face. Her father, still handsome and spry, could be quite the charmer when he wanted to be.

  “I know who you are,” he said after he let go of Rain. “I’ve seen you on television a bunch of times! Come on inside.”

  As they made their way into the building, Manuel called out, “Lena! Look who Dara brought with her!”

  Magdalena popped her head into the hallway. She had an apron around her waist; Dara could see the fancy blouse and skirt underneath. Mom was dressed to the hilt. Magdalena smiled prettily. She was getting a bit thick around the middle and her long hair was now about half gray—she refused to dye it—but Magdalena Cruz was still a beautiful woman. At a glance, you could see where Dara’s stunning looks came from. Dara’s sister, Lisa, looked much more like their father than their mother. This meant that, while she was still an attractive woman, she had never had her sister’s traffic-stopping looks—thus another source of tension between them.

  “Hello, Mrs. Cruz,” Rain said as she rushed forward to shake Magdalena’s hand. Dara’s mom had never been as affectionate as her dad. She was not a hugger; she shook Rain’s hand.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” Magdalena said. She came over to plant a kiss on Dara’s cheek, then she led them all into the dining room. As Dara suspected, there was just one lone guest at this “get-together,” a good-looking Puerto Rican man with a thick mustache, slicked-back hair, and a well-tailored blue suit. He looked vaguely familiar to Dara but she couldn’t quite place him. Clearly he was the blind date.

  “Dara, you remember Orlando Vasquez?” Manuel said.

  Orlando rose from the table and, wearing a giddy smile, came toward Dara for a hug. Orlando Vasquez. Of course. He was a boy from the neighborhood she had “dated” for a few months early in high school. With the mustache and all the Elvis hair, she hadn’t really recognized him. She had to admit that Orlando looked good; he looked prosperous, happy, unlike most of the kids from the neighborhood she ran into these days. Dara stiffened as he approached, but she willed herself to loosen up and let the man hug her.

  “Hello, Orlando,” Dara said. “You look like you’re doing well.” She remembered that she used to call him “Londy” when they were together.

  “He is!” Magdalena chimed in. “Orlando has his own trucking company. He is very successful. How many people you got working for you now, Orlando?”

  “Um, about thirty-five, last time I checked,” Orlando said proudly. “I’m doing okay.” But then he shook his head and pointed at Dara. “But nothing like this one here! My God, you’re doing your thing, girl! You like the most famous person from Spanish Harlem in the country. Pretty soon we gonna have to come up with a nickname for you like J.Lo. But she from the Bronx. I been working on one for you. How about D.Cru?”

  Dara laughed and waved her hand dismissively. “You’re crazy, Londy!”

  “Ah, Londy. You remembered, huh?” Orlando said. He smiled, quite pleased that his childhood nickname had stayed with Dara.

  Manuel, ever the perceptive host, noticed Rain standing off to the side, looking more than a little uncomfortable. For just a second, Dara was annoyed at the pained expression on Rain’s face. Damn, she had told her what this was all about, that clearly her parents wanted her to meet some new man they had found. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to Rain.

  “Everybody, you guys know Rain Sommers, right? She’s the famous comedian. You make movies too, right?” Manuel said, looking toward Rain for confirmation.

  Rain nodded shyly. Dara had never seen Rain do anything shyly. Apparently the circumstances of this meeting had her a bit intimidated too. Dara was glad to see that she wasn’t the only one who felt uncomfortable here.

  “I didn’t know you were bringing a guest, Dara,” Lena said, scolding. “But luckily I made enough food.”

  “Well, Mommy, you said it was a get-together, remember?” Dara said, taking the opportunity to do some scolding of her own. “I didn’t know that meant I was getting together with just one person.”

  Lena scowled, a bit embarrassed at her daughter’s impertinence in front of Orlando. She had told the man that Dara was aware that he was coming and was fine with it. Orlando watched the looks exchanged by the two women and realized that he had been thrown in Dara’s face. The knowledge stole away just a bit of his businessman swagger.

  “Dara, did you bring the wine?” Magdalena asked.

  Dara, terrified at what awaited her, had left it in the town car. She grimaced.

  “Damn, I’m sorry, Mommy! I left it in the limo!”

  “Watch your language, girl!” Magdalena said.

  “You came here in a limo? To Spanish Harlem?” Orlando asked. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether he should be impressed or amused.

  “Not really a limo, a town car,” Rain said, hoping to clarify things. But she just made them worse.

  “Oh, excuuuse me, a town car,” Orlando said mockingly. He saw several pairs of eyes on him and none of them were amused. He turned away and moved toward an empty chair in the living room. Young, good-looking, and successful, Orlando Vasquez was a star in his world. He had a long list of beautiful uptown Latinas and black girls vying for his affection. At first blush, he had no reason to believe that Dara would be a reach for him. But by now he realized he was far out of his league. As he lowered himself into the chair, his stature in his own eyes had been lowered as well.

  For the next twenty minutes, a thick tension swirled around the second floor of the brownstone. Each person present had his or her own agenda and none could be too certain that it was shared by anyone else. While Manuel and Magdalena were trying to figure out how to get Orlando to resume his charming ways with Dara, they also were confused by the presence of Rain. It was nice that Dara wanted them to meet her important friends, but why did she bring this white girl to a dinner party in Spanish Harlem? Rain was using every mental trick she could think of to will Dara into making the announcement that would change everything. And Dara wanted to be anywhere else but in her parents’ home. For once, she wished her big sister were around to lure her into an argument. At least that would be a respite from this.

  “We don’t have no wine, but I got beer,” Manuel said with a smile, forcing some cheer on the group. “Anybody?”

  Orlando nodded. “I’ll take one of those, Mr. Cruz,” he said. At least that would give him something to do with his hands.

  “Well, there’s no use standing around,” Magdalena said. “The food is ready. Everybody shou
ld just sit down.”

  Everyone headed for the dinner table, which was covered with Magdalena’s best china. Dara was pleased to see that her mother had not tried to get too fancy and had gone with some traditional Puerto Rican staples, like frijoles negros (black bean soup), asopao (gumbo), pastelón de carne (meat pies), and arroz con habichuelas (rice and beans). Rain had located a table filled with framed pictures of Dara and her big sister; she chuckled quietly to herself as she scanned the many pictures of the girls in their white and frilly Catholic church finery.

  “She was a cute little girl, wasn’t she?” Manuel said as he watched Rain.

  Rain nodded enthusiastically. “She was adorable!” she said.

  Dara gestured for Rain to sit down at the table next to her. Manuel took the seat at the head of the table. Orlando sat down in the seat opposite Dara. Magdalena brought dishes in from the kitchen and placed them in the middle of the table, then sat next to Orlando, which was opposite Rain. Manuel smoothly blessed the food, saying grace in Spanish. For several minutes, the only sound in the room was the clinking of knives and forks on china and the smattering of thank-yous as the food got passed around. Dara could feel the tension inside of her chest steadily building, like the gathering of black clouds before a severe storm. When was the perfect time to do this? Would there ever be a perfect time? She glanced over at Rain, who was watching her closely, waiting. Dara took a long, deep breath.

  “Mommy. Daddy. I have something I want to talk about with you,” she said. She glanced over at Rain and added, “Actually, we both do.”

  Manuel and Magdalena exchanged curious looks but said nothing. Dara reached out toward Rain with her left hand. Rain slowly enclosed Dara’s hand inside of hers and they rested them together on the table, almost like an offering to the rest of the room.

  “Rain and I are lovers,” Dara said. “We live together downtown. We love each other very much. I’ve known for a while now that I was attracted to women, but I was . . . I was . . . afraid. To tell both of you. I thought you would be . . . like . . . upset with me. Disappointed. But now, there it is. The truth. I’m a lesbian.”

  Dara waited for a gasp from Magdalena, a curse from Manuel. But she got neither. Instead, she got Orlando.

  “Daaaamn,” Orlando said softly, more to himself than anyone else. He nodded and looked back and forth between the two women, almost as if he were consoling himself with this new information.

  Manuel reached out with his own left hand and took hold of Dara’s right hand. The three of them now had a prayer chain going. “Dara, baby. You don’t ever have to be afraid to tell me something,” he said. “I love you, niña. I will always love you, no matter if you like men or women.”

  Manuel glanced over at Magdalena, who gave him a slight nod of encouragement and perhaps agreement. “Yes, you know we are Catholic and our church is kind of stupid about stuff like this,” Manuel continued. “Pero, es poco loco because we know our church has a whole bunch of men and women who are, you know, gay—shoot, even some of the priests and probably the nuns too!”

  “Manny!” Magdalena said.

  “No, you know it’s true, Lena! So we should leave the church out of it. But you are our baby girl, Dara. We just want you to be happy.” His eyes started to tear up. He glanced again at Magdalena, who now had tears running down her face.

  “Now, I don’t know that much about Rain, except what I see on TV. I know she’s una mujer divertida—one funny woman! Pero, if you have given your heart to this woman, she must be a very special person. Claro, if you love her, niña, then me and Lena want to love her too.”

  Now the tears roamed freely down Manuel’s face. Dara felt a sob catch in her throat, then she let it go. She was surprised by the torrent of pent-up emotion that came pouring out of her. She let out a full, strong wail, bolted from her chair, and wrapped her arms around her father’s head, holding him against her and gripping him with all her might. Magdalena groped for her napkin on the table and tried to dry her freshly flowing tears as she watched her daughter and her husband share a long, tight embrace. She looked across the table at Rain, whose face was slick from her own tears. Magdalena held out her arms to Rain, who smiled sweetly and walked over to step into Magdalena’s embrace. Rain wept into this woman’s blouse, this woman who was a stranger to her sixty minutes ago. Rain was floored by the reaction of this family, these special people. She thought back on her own coming-out to her parents and her older brother—the accusations, angry words, bitter curses, nasty threats. It was as fresh in her mind as if it had happened yesterday. Very few words had been exchanged since that day. An ugly cold war. That was the scene Rain expected in Spanish Harlem. Not this blubbering love fest. My God, are these the most wonderful people I have ever met? she thought.

  The fifth member of the dinner party, the odd man out, Orlando, sat and watched the whole scene in disbelief. Damn, this was some serious shit, he thought. He reached up with the back of his hand to wipe away his own tears. Some serious shit.

  Heather Hope struggled through the final moments of her show, a special on foreign adoptions. It was the kind of mushy topic that she would normally dive into with an abundance of energy, making sure she got some tears from the guests and the audience members. But on this day, she was distracted by what was waiting for her on the desk in her office: the bound galleys for Satan’s Sisters, Missy’s book. Heather had been begging Missy for a peek at the manuscript for months, but Missy always came up with excuses why she couldn’t hand it over to Heather. But this morning, just before Heather was about to walk down to the studio to begin the show, one of her assistants appeared at her door with a small padded envelope that had come by messenger. The word “Confidential” was stamped across the front of the envelope about a dozen times. Heather looked down and saw that it was from Melissa Adams. She tore into the package breathlessly and exclaimed so loudly when she held the advance galley in her hand that her assistant looked at her curiously.

  “It’s here!” Heather said, holding it aloft for the assistant to see. “Missy’s book!”

  The young girl smiled, but she clearly had no idea what her boss was talking about. Heather disappeared back into her office and shut the door behind her. She looked at the words on the back of the jacket—“explosive,” “courageous,” “damning,” “scintillating,” “shocking” were all adjectives used to describe the content. Heather gently placed it on her desk. They were doing a taping today instead of a live show. As soon as it was over, Heather planned to race back home and spend the rest of the day reading. She couldn’t wait to dive in.

  She was held up by a few meetings and a conference call with two of her agents, who were trying to convince her to do another movie, this time as the star. Heather had become a powerful Hollywood producer in the wake of her Academy Award. She had been involved behind the scenes as an investor and consultant on a half dozen major movies over the past few years. But she had been reluctant to get in front of the camera again. She just didn’t see any value in it—why subject herself to the scrutiny and the certain attacks that would follow when she didn’t have to? She didn’t understand why her agents couldn’t see that. She rushed them off the phone as quickly as she could with the promise to “look at” scripts if they could find some that were worth pursuing.

  By the time Heather actually settled down in the buttery-soft living room couch with a glass of red wine and Satan’s Sisters, it was already five o’clock, meaning she would have to stop at some point to eat dinner. Her driver had gotten caught up in a nasty traffic snarl on the way out to her mammoth estate in Alpine, New Jersey. Her cook was on vacation this week, so there would be no delicious meal waiting for her. But once Heather became engrossed in Missy’s story, she forgot all about her stomach. She forgot about everything except the words on the page.

  Heather was shocked by the raw honesty of Missy’s tale. It was painful to read about the lie that she lived for all those years when she had become the darling of the conservat
ive world. Missy recounted how she had fallen in love with a beautiful, brilliant young black man named Rayford Williams when they were both in high school in Alabama. They attended school on opposite sides of the town, which was about an hour outside of Birmingham. His school was predominantly black; hers was predominantly white. He was a star of his school’s football team; Missy was a cheerleader. When their schools met during her junior year, Missy struck up a conversation with Rayford after the game. She was intoxicated by him—he was tall and muscular, with big, doelike eyes, long eyelashes, perfect white teeth, and a gorgeous smile that had her heart fluttering just minutes into their conversation. He was a year older than she, a senior. She could see a few of her friends from the cheerleading squad eyeing her suspiciously, wondering why she was talking so long to the black kid from the other side of town. Missy memorized his phone number and promised to call him. But she got the numbers mixed up and kept dialing the wrong number. She tried dozens of combinations. No luck. She was devastated, thinking she would never see him again.

  But her phone rang two days later—he had somehow gotten his hands on her number! She never even found out how he had done it, but she was thrilled. They started sneaking to a secluded park on the outskirts of town to see each other. They both would creep out of the house when their parents were asleep and spend hours basking in the glow of their young love. Within a few months, they slept together for the first time. He was Missy’s first lover and, while it hurt like hell the first few times, eventually she was stunned by how good it felt to have him inside of her. It got to the point where all she could think about was Rayford’s body, his touch, his mouth, his penis. Her grades started slipping; her parents thought she was sick or something. No one recognized the symptoms of young love. As the school year progressed and winter turned to spring, Missy knew that Rayford would be going away soon. When she found out he was going into the military, she was mortified. He was due in basic training just a week after his graduation. On their last night together, Missy persuaded him to make love to her without a condom because she wanted to feel him inside of her completely, totally, at least once before he was maybe gone from her life forever. They were in their usual spot, in an alcove of trees in the park, on a blanket underneath the stars on a balmy Alabama night. In the book, Missy said she felt uninhibited that night, totally free to let her passion run wild. It was probably the most intensely pleasurable experience of her life.